


Cooking Difficulties

by Pande



Category: Avengers, Captain America, Iron Man - Fandom, Marvel, spider man - Fandom
Genre: Cooking, Domestic Avengers, Gen, Pancakes, Super Husbands, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-15 13:35:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pande/pseuds/Pande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Saturday morning in the Stark/Rogers/Parker household - that means it's time for pancakes!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cooking Difficulties

**Author's Note:**

> Just some harmless attempt at cute fluffy fics. c:

Tony’s eyes cracked open as the sounds of dishware clinking together reached a rather unnerving pitch. His head pulled up and he looked over at the empty portion of the bed. His eyes were narrowed sleepily for a moment before they snapped open, he jerked up in surprise.

_Steve was in the kitchen cooking._

“J.A.R.V.I.S.!” Tony nearly yelped, struggling out of the sheets in his haste - he only truly succeeded in tangling himself more and toppled off the bed with a surprised shout of pain. “J.A.R.V.I.S.!” He shouted wildly, flailing in the sheets. His struggles seemed without end, he wrestled with the sheets, snarling and only really suceeding in tangling himself more than ever. He appeared to be the most in pain catepillar of all time.

> _Yes, sir?_

“Where is Rogers!” He cried, finally untangling himself from his sheets and standing up, “Has the house been set on fire yet?” he cried, fumbling for a pair of pants. He stumbled forward, tripping over the nightstand table, he swore violently. He proceeded to hop around the bedroom - the pants were only a formallity, normally Stark would have just charged straight into the kitchen. However, there was young Peter to think about. Not a good mental image to have when you were a young child. Tended to change people.

> _No sir, and you really should watch your mouth, young Peter is still sleeping._ Jarvis responded dispassionately. _Rogers seems to be doing an exemplary job so far._

Tony scowled, “I’ll be the judge of that,” he limped into the hallway before walking out into the kitchen. He blinked, his expression was suspicious and then he burst out laughing. His hands went around his waist as he grabbed his ribs, laughing that hard.

Steve looked up, his expression had been one of intense concentration. Now it was a sheepish, caught-in-the-act look. It didn’t help that he had pieces of batter all over his body, including, but not limited to, in his hair. Tony walked towards the love of his life and kissed him on the cheek - the one place batter hadn’t managed to get, yet. Steve looked at him calmly, in front of him were three mixing bowls, several mixers, two boxes of bisquic mix, egg cartons, milk jugs - and flour. Everywhere. Simply everywhere.

“You, uh, you do know that there is already flour in the mix. Yes?” Tony started the coversation simply. Steve glared at him. Tony gave him a cheeky half-smile and dampened a paper towel at the sink.

“I thought it was sugar.” Steve confessed, “It’s been a long time since I made pancakes,” he looked at the bowl of mush that sat in front of him. His expression sobered, “It doesn’t taste right…” he sounded really, truly sad. Tony frowned. His hand came up and cupped Steve’s jaw. He turned the man’s face towards him. Pity for the man was breaking his metal heart. Steve tried so damn hard, and it wasn't that Tony doubted he could make pancakes. It was that he doubted Steve could make them in the 21st century. He cleared his throat and pulled Steve's jaw down gently.

“In general,” he said, dabbing the damp towel on Steve’s face and body. He cleared up the rest of the batter as best he could, “things made from mixers are not as tasty as things made from scratch. But let’s see what I can do.” He moved Steve off to the side. He smiled as Steve looked over his shoulder, casually resting his still batter-covered chin on Tony. Steve’s arms wrapped around Tony’s waist and held him there.

“Alright,” Steve whispered softly into Tony’s ear. “Show me how it’s done.”

Tony froze for several seconds, trying to decide if he should actually try cooking, or if it was far more important to get Rogers back into his bed before Peter awoke for his Saturday morning cartoons. In the end, Steve’s stomach won them both over and Tony got down to business. First step was to locate the ingredients. Starting with the recipie box.

He held up the box, “Two cups of the mix.” he said, mostly for Steve’s part, but it wasn’t like Tony had actually ever  _made_  anything in his entire life - well, that wasn’t a weapon or tech of some kind. “With one cup milk, two eggs,” he grabbed all the ingredients with Roger’s still firmly suction cupped to his back. He grabbed in ingredients, and his clever mind thought. He’d heard Pepper once telling him the secret to a good flapjack. She had said something about 'extra ingredients'.

He reached up, searching the spices and pulled out two. One was a simple brown bottle and the other was filled with a reddish brown powder.

Tony opened one and sniffed. He smiled and held it up to Steve to smell.

“That smells like ice cream,” Steve said softly, the purr in his voice was nearly unmistakeable. “It’s vanilla, right? I remember my mother using that to cook pancakes for me when I was a kid. What’s the other one?” he asked lazily, watching Tony spill a small amount into the dry mix.

“Why don’t you sniff it and see if you can figure it out?” Tony asked, thankful that Steve couldn’t see the wicked grin on his face as he held up the spice.

Like an obedient puppy, Rogers took a light sniff — and promptly started to gag and cough. His hands flew up to his nose and he glared at Tony with watery eyes. “Thinnamon.” He said, still glaring. He'd backed up a few steps, wise to keep his dstance.

“That is quite correct, soldier.” Stark said, sprinkling a more than fair amount into the bowl. He reached for the whisk to start mixing the now perfect batter. Steve had recovered finally and he reached over Tony’s shoulder and put his finger in the mix. Steve lifted it up to his mouth and tasted it, he closed his eyes and nodded slightly.

He finnished tasted it and grinned, “Much better, who knew you were such a good cook? You’ll have to add that to the list of things you’re good at outside of a suit.” He looked thoughtful, “Well, one of several you should add.” And Steve kissed Tony on the cheek - then smeared the last of the batter on Tony’s face. He laughed when Tony snarled at him. "However, I think it still needs moe sugar. Its too plain still."

"Plain?" Tony's eyes narrowed, to humor his partner he reached for the sugar and added a generous portion into the mix. Who knew the military man liked sweet things! Tony remixed the solution before sampling it again. He nodded and mixed it a little bit in the large mixing bowl and he flicked the whisk at Steve, spraying the man with a not-so-little amount of batter before laughing like a maniac. He turned and raced around to the other side of the kitchen island as Steve recoiled from the batter attack.

The super soldier glowered at Tony, “Stark, you will pay for that.” he growled playfully.

Tony gave him a cheeky grin, “Maybe. You’ll have to catch me first, batter-boy.”

Steve frowned and raced around the island towards Tony. The man flicked more batter at him before turning and dashing around to the other side of the island - as far away from Steve has he could be.

This went on for several minutes until all of the batter mysteriously vanished from the bowl and Steve finally manage to capture Tony. He had the man pinned against the counter, and was not-so-gently licking the batter off Tony’s shoulder when his partner froze. He nibbled on Tony, “What’s wrong Tony?” He asked softly, teasingly.

“Child.” Tony said, his voice tight and formal.

“Child?” Steve said, he kept nibbling up Tony’s neck before his eyes snapped open. “Peter,” He whirled and looked at the small boy in the hallway. "Good...uh.. morning." He smield awkwardly.

The child was wearing his favorite train pajamas, watching the two with blankly staring sleepy eyes. He yawned and rubbed at them with both hands (one hand was holding his favorite little toy hammer, which he adoringly called ‘meow-meow’ after Uncle Thor’s hammer). When he was done, he regarded his adopted fathers with a blank, vaguely disaproving look. For being only seven years old, Peter was very well-spoken. At this moment he just looked at his fathers, the mess they had made of the kitchen, then the wasted batter. He rolled his eyes, “Pop, Dad. Really?” With a barely disguised sigh of disgust, the child got his step stool from the closet and set it up next to the counter.

With another sigh he started to craft a whole new batch of pancake batter, and by the time the husbands knew what was going on, Peter was delicately flipping a pancake with both hands. They hadn’t really moved from their position the entire time, just watching their son as he calmly ignored their horny behavior. With one last lick, Steve let go of Tony and walked over to Peter. “Good morning Peter.” He said again slowly.

“Morning, Pop.” Peter responded, pouring the fifth pancake serving into the frying pan.

“So… how did you sleep?” Steve asked, smiling and ruffling his boy’s hair.

Peter didn’t react, “Fine, until I heard all the commotion. I thought Uncle Thor had come to visit again, but no.” The child let out a mature sigh, “It was just my Dads acting like teenagers. At least, that's why Aunt Natasha said it was. What's a teenager? Do I have to become one?" He looked up at Steve with his sleep fluffy hair and doe-like brown eyes.

“Hey!” Tony said indignantly, finally chipping into the conversation, “You tell 'Aunt Natasha' to keep her opinions out of your head."

“Sorry Dad,” Peter amended, but there was a complete lack of sincerity in his voice. “But it’s going to be difficult to explain why there is batter all over the kitchen to Ms. Potts when she arrives.” He looked over his shoulder at the clock, “Which will be in about ten minutes. She’s never late.” He made a point to look at Tony. The he flipped the last pancake and looked back at Tony.

Tony made several noises in his throat. Steve turned and laughed, “I take offense to that too, Peter!” was about all Stark could manage. Steve started to laugh. Tony glared at him.

The boy casually flipped his seventh pancake as Tony pressed Steve into the wall and growled “What are you laughing at?” with righteous indignation.

“You,” Steve said, still laughing, “And the fact that you’re being bested by a seven year old.”

“He is no ordinary seven year old!” Tony hissed quietly, struggling to keep Steve pressured against the wall.

“Of course I’m not,” Peter said blandly, turning off the stove and picking up his plate of pancakes as the front door opened.

Tony and Steve looked up as Pepper walked in. They seperated quickly, covered still in batter.

“Uh…” Steve said, wiping off his chest a bit, but only really makin the problem worse.

“Uh… Pepper I can explain,” Tony started, also covered in batter - however he opted to ignore it and smiled.

“Dad and Pop can’t cook, they’re very messy.” Peter said, pouring syrup onto his pancakes. He placed a more than fair amount on, and the golden brown syrup melted off his golden pancakes. He beamed at himself, proud.

Pepper frowned, “Did you allow Peter to make those all by himself?” She asked, not really expecting a satisfactory answer. She looked over at the mess on the counter and sighed. She turned and smiled at Peter, “Did they make this mess, sweetie?” she asked.

Peter nodded, “Yes. But it’s alright, this is cleaner than they normally are. And this time nothing caught on fire. But they both need a shower, Pop has batter on his back, Dad couldn’t reach that with his mouth before you came in.” Peter blinked and looked at his parents, “Oh and I’ve got a Parent-Teacher conference tomorrow. Mrs. Temp wants to discuss my science fair project ideas. Apparently trying to measure the stability of an atom is ‘too advanced for a child my age.’” Peter grumbled and shoveled a forkful of pancake into his mouth. "But that was my second choice, originally I had wanted to see if I could reconstruct the DNA of Donatello."

Steve and Tony could only stand there, looking completely taken-aback. Even Pepper appeared surprised. "W-who?" Tony asked finally, the question on all the adult's minds.

Peter looked at Tony, his mouth full of pancake, "This a nijhff turtchle."

Steve and Tony turned to Pepper for a translation. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and lifted an eye brow at them, "Ninja Turtles. Really?" she asked them. Pepper laughed good-naturedly when Steve shrugged his shoulders and stroked Peter’s hair, “Is that so, Peter? Well, your parents will have to clean up before they have to go over important grown up stuff. It's almost time for your cartoons to start, isn't it?” She looked up at the two of them, her mouth in a firm line. “And I have figures to go over, Tony.”

“I. Uh. I. Fine.” Tony said, “I’ll go get dressed.” He glared at Steve before turning and heading towards the bathroom. Steve, on the other hand, walked over to his son and reached for a pancake off Peter’s plate. The child smacked him with a fork; hard.

Steve yelped and pulled his hand back. He shook it and craddled the injured hand tenderly, “No pancakes for me?” he asked.

“No, you didn’t help make them. I made these, they’re mine.” Peter told him, giving him a satisfied glare as he forked in another helping of pancake. He chewed gleefully as Steve narrowed his eyes. He lifted his half eaten plate before calling to J.A.R.V.I.S. to turn on the cartoons.


End file.
